


Olympic Tryouts (part 9)

by jennamacaroni



Series: Olympic Tryouts [9]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-02-09 23:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2002212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennamacaroni/pseuds/jennamacaroni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana and Brittany have been rivals in the college hockey world for the past four years.  now they’re both at Olympic tryouts to play on the same team and Boston and Minnesota just don’t get along, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Olympic Tryouts (part 9)

Coach Taylor calls Rachel, Brittany and Santana into his office while they’re still in the middle of pulling off their gear. Rachel is the only one who managed to get her skates off, so as they lope out into the hallway outside the locker room and make their way to Coach’s office, she looks even more dwarf-like than normal, especially with Brittany at her heels and towering over her like an Amazonian.

Rachel raps quickly on the open office door, hesitating for a half-second before Coach Taylor beckons them inside and to take a seat. He leans back in his chair lazily, eyeing them one after the other over the rims of his glasses.

“What do you three think about me keeping you together? Seemed to work pretty well today,” he states, looking down to the paper laid out on the desk. “Three out of five goals with you three on the ice, multiple caused turnovers and you two,” he points between Brittany and Santana, “were both pretty consistently winning faceoffs.”

They look back and forth between the three of them briefly before Santana nods towards Brittany to speak first.

“We just find each other on the ice. I can’t really explain it,” she starts, brow scrunching up adorably and voice trailing off while she tries to form a more eloquent response.

“Yeah, it’s kind of this weird sixth sense,” Santana adds, eyes flitting to Brittany who is looking at her intensely. “I know it doesn’t really make sense to have two of our best centers on the ice at the same time, but I don’t mind giving up taking the faceoffs and switching to winger if we keep scoring the way have been,” Santana finishes, turning back towards Coach Taylor who is once again eyeing them both with something Santana can only pinpoint as a curious skepticism.

“What about you, Rachel? You think this is working with Beavis and Butthead over here?” Coach asks, nodding once more to Brittany and Santana who both sputter open-mouthed with matching wide-eyed expressions of horror. Nothing ever gets by Coach Taylor, thinks Santana glumly.

“Yes, Coach, I do,” agrees Rachel. “It’s a little different playing with them as can be expected with any new teammates, but we certainly are moving the puck well and making things happen in the offensive zone.”

Santana is still trying to get used to the matter-of-fact holier-than-thou tone Rachel has every time she opens her mouth, but agrees either way. “Yup. Pass, shoot…”

“And score,” Brittany finishes, smirking. Santana doesn’t miss the eyebrow raise from Coach Taylor as he continues to study her like a complicated math problem he can’t quite solve. The next few seconds of silence stretch out uncomfortably.

“Alright, we’ll see how she goes,” he gruffs. “Enjoy the weekend and rest up, you’re gonna need it,” he finishes, dismissing them with a shooing wave. “And stay out of trouble!” he barks as they file out of the room.

Santana can feel the burn of Brittany’s stare through the back of her tshirt as she leads them back to the locker room, Rachel’s rambling about their potential trio name and secret handshake like white noise as she focuses on the tingling feeling that pulses from from the pit of her stomach to the tips of her fingers. She flexes them reflexively and tries to hide the smirk creeping onto her face before pushing back into the room to stretch and shower.

_____

Tina thinks the team needs to do some serious unwinding and offers up her aunt and uncle’s unoccupied winter cabin for a party that evening, the team’s first. The house is large enough for them to all stay over, even if a bunch have to sleep on the floor, and she orders boxes upon boxes of pizza from the local parlor. She puts Brittany in charge of the liquor “because, duhhh” and although Rachel insists on making the party playlist, Santana pockets her spare iPod just in case.

_____

“Who wants to start off with some karaoke?!” Rachel squeals, pulling a portable karaoke machine from behind her back as she busts through the front door.

“My god, did you fly with that thing?” Quinn moans, rolling her eyes dramatically and shaking her head back and forth condescendingly.

“Why yes, actually I did, Quinn. No party is truly complete without at least one Rachel Berry musical performance. I’ll have you know I was All-State choir all four years of high school back in Massachusetts. My dads say I could have made it on Broadway, but I found the rush of physical activity to be far more worthwhile…”

“Can it, Rachel,” Santana interrupts, pushing her way through the entryway and swiftly kicking the machine sideways on her way to the kitchen, arms overflowing with full bottles alcohol ranging in spectrum from clear to dark brown. Brittany follows closely behind with a pony keg of beer hauled over one shoulder and the tap clamped between her teeth. She sets it down into the trash can of ice Tina put out in the corner of the kitchen and in one swift movement screws and locks down the tap, dusting her hands off and beaming with pride. Santana is caught staring for the first time that night because damn, that was hot.

_____

While the others are mixing their own drinks or gathered around the keg waiting to get filled up, Quinn lines up thirty Solo cups around the perimeter of the kitchen island, grabbing the large handle of Fireball and pouring generous shots down the line into each cup. Santana grins at her over the table approvingly before wolf-whistling loudly.

“Everyone get your asses over here!” she calls. “And turn down that racket for a hot second!”

“Excuse you, Santana! That is Barbara playing!” Rachel huffs from across the room, reaching for the stereo and looking like Santana just insulted her favorite grandmother. Santana’s exaggerated eye roll emits a hearty chuckle from Brittany who appears suddenly, pressing their sides together.

“Nice whistle,” she whispers, leaning in so close to Santana she forgets to breathe.

“Errr, right,” Santana mumbles, clearing her throat loudly to get everyone’s attention. “To making it this far,” she toasts, lifting her cup high over the table. The rest of the team mirrors her, hoisting the cups into the air and knocking them together into one large mass.

“And to the mother fucking U. S. of A,” Brittany adds stoically, before bursting into a snort of laughter and throwing back the shot to loud hooting and hollering. Santana feels herself lose her breath again when Brittany slams the cup down and winks at her as she scampers away back towards the keg.

The Fireball burns hot and fast down her throat as she reaches for another. This could be a long night.

_____

After her second shot and third gin and tonic, the edges of the room start to soften and the music pulses louder and louder against her eardrums. She takes a break from playing flip cup on the back porch, perching on a stool at the edge of the kitchen and taking in the rest of the party.

Rachel and four others are dancing to Icona Pop in the living room, their heads thrown back and arms in the air as their bodies bob up and down in time with the beat. Santana is surprised to see Quinn out there, she’s not typically the dancing type when there are beer games going on. And did she just see her hand graze Rachel’s waist or was she imagining that?

Her attention turns this time to Mercedes who yells out a “oh NO you don’t!” as she slaps away an attempted bounce shot in the beer pong game going on in the dining room. “Girl, you better check yo’self before trying to bounce against _this_! Don’t even play with me,” she chides to a blonde named Kitty across the table. At least she’s learning her lesson, thinks Santana, who smirks in Mercedes’s direction with affection. You never mess with Wheezy; the girl has reflexes unlike any Santana has ever seen.

When the back door slides open, Santana’s eyes unconsciously land on Brittany’s lithe figure as she squeezes back into the house, looking around the room quickly before finding Santana and making her way towards the kitchen. She’s as graceful on her feet as ever crossing the room, not appearing the least bit drunk even though Santana has watched her throw back drinks consistently all night.

“What’dya say, Lopez? Had enough already?” she jokes, poking Santana in the ribs before reaching across the counter for the Fireball and two empty shot glasses she pulls from the sink. She pours them deftly and pushes one in front of Santana, raising the other up for a toast. “To us,” she eases, locking their eyes.

“To us,” Santana mimics, clinking their glasses together and taking the glass to her lips.

“Wait!” Brittany shouts, freezing Santana dumbly with her hand in mid-air and mouth already half open. She snakes her arm around Santana’s so their elbows are linked and with an “okay, now,” they throw back the shots in sync.

Santana feels desire burn deep in her belly more than the lick of whiskey down her throat as brown meet clear blue.

Mercedes’s roar of celebration interrupts Santana’s ogling as she turns in time to see Kitty stalk off towards the back door in defeat.

“Beavis and Butthead do beer pong?” Brittany suggests, tickling Santana’s hip before backing away slowly towards the dining room with a beckoning finger.

“Oh, poor Weezy doesn’t stand a chance,” Santana laughs, snapping out of her daydream and grabbing the empty pitcher to fill from the keg before taking her place next to Brittany at the table.


End file.
